If She Knew
by BriannaElizabeth0211
Summary: "I looked up at her, at the candle wobbling dangerously in her trembling hand, at her dark eyes wide with terror...Her voice shook as she uttered her next words: ' This is no ordinary meeting, is it? '" In which Eliza finds out about the Hamilton-Burr duel before it occurs instead of after the damage has already been done. (Historical AU)
1. Awakening (Eliza)

**A/N: Hi, everyone, how've you been? This is my first time writing fanfiction, so I hope you all like this. Please let me know what you think of this and what I could do to improve my writing, because I'd love to hear your opinion. (And if there's anything you'd like me to write about, please let me know as well)**

 **Just so you all know, I cried writing the dream sequence that ended up taking up most of this chapter, so...**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter**_ _ **1: Awakening (Eliza)**_

" _Stay with me," I told my eldest son in as calm a voice as I could muster as I held him in my arms—which, despite my every effort, sounded far more panicked than not._

" _I…I'll do my best to," Philip replied before descending into another coughing fit—his fifth one since the incident (or at least, his fifth since I had arrived to find him here, in a small bedroom at the back of my older sister's home, after it occurred) the afternoon before, and his worst so far—yet another indication of what was to come (_ but this can't be happening, not now, not like this _). At least his mind was clearer now than it had been an hour earlier, when he had been in a state of feverish delirium. A slight glimmer of hope, perhaps._

 _Even as I tried to find something,_ _anything_ _, to cling to as proof that Philip would recover from his injuries, I somehow received the impression that that endeavor was futile (_ but it can't be anywhere close to that _)._

 _I looked up at my husband, who was cradling Philip on his other side. I couldn't take another moment of seeing my son,_ _our_ _son,_ _our_ _firstborn, the child we had both had our highest hopes for, in the state he was in—wounded in three places by a single bullet, his bandages and clothing and the bed he was lying on stained red and brown from the blood he'd lost, his condition worsening by the hour with no lasting improvement despite Dr. Hosack's efforts—Philip was only nineteen, he would be turning twenty in January, only a couple months from now—it's too soon, far too soon for his time to run out (_ and it can't be, not in this manner, not at this time and place _)._

 _If I had looked to Alexander in the hopes of any sort of consolation, I would find none—and I did find none. I only found terror and anguish matching my own—perhaps even surpassing it—etched in the lines on his face and practically burned into his violet-blue eyes._

 _My gaze shifted to the window behind him, which let in no light at all since daybreak still had yet to come. A phrase crossed my mind then, of the night being darkest just before the dawn. If I could only know the dawn would come, that my son would eventually recover from this, then the phrase would fit perfectly to the situation. Alas, the opposite appeared to be the case, as we had been told hours before that unless some miracle occurred, my son would not live to see another sunrise (_ but that couldn't be true…could it? _)._

 _As Philip's coughs began to subside, I tore my gaze from the window to look back at him, his forehead damp with sweat, his ashen face contrasting sharply with his messy dark hair, his dark eyes revealing his pain. "Philip," I began, "I need you to follow along with me, like we would do together when you were younger. Do you remember?"_

" _Like…" My son paused for a moment, coughing, the sound of it far too loud, far too harsh. "Like when I was learning to count?"_

" _Yes, exactly like that."_

 _He nodded, one sudden, jerky movement._

 _I took a deep breath and began to count. "Un, deux, troix, cuatre, cinq,..."_

 _Before I completed the sequence, Philip jumped in starting from the beginning, just like he would do when he was younger._

" _Good," I responded when he completed the sequence from one to nine, despite the fact the voice that normally carried so well was growing softer by the second._

 _Again, I started the sequence, and again, Philip jumped in before I finished: "Un, deux, troix..."_

" _..., six, sept, huit, neuf."_

 _As I completed the sequence myself, I noticed Philip had fallen silent, had stopped following along._

" _Sept, huit, neuf."_

 _I noticed my son had gone limp, no longer tense from the pain._

" _Sept, huit..."_

 _I looked into my son's open eyes, so much like my own. The light in them, once burning so brightly, was gone. Snuffed out like a half-used candle._

No...

 _All of a sudden, early afternoon sunlight came flooding in through the window, blinding me for a moment or two. As my eyes adjusted to the change, I heard a voice ask, seemingly on the verge of tears, "Is he...?"_

 _The voice came from where my husband had been, yet it was not his own voice, but the voice of my older sister, who had been standing in the doorway to the room before the sunlight filled it to the brim._

 _Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the figure standing at the head of the bed—the doctor, presumably—nod yes, slowly, as if he had no desire to answer in the affirmative, yet also had no choice but to do so._

 _As the doctor moved to close the eyes of the man lying before him, I took one last look at the latter's face. I have no idea what I expected to see, but I do know what I_ _did_ _see._

 _Alexander—my husband of over twenty years—had taken Philip's place, his graying red hair freed from its ribbon, his blue eyes glassy and lifeless, his body lying limp like a broken doll._

 _Silence._

 _Then an anguished scream—closer to the cry of some wounded animal than anything even remotely human—shattered the quiet and filled the room as the scene began to blur before my eyes. A few seconds passed before I realized, once the sound had degenerated into sobs, that I had been its origin._

This can't be right—it can't have ended this way—he still had a long time ahead of him—we still need him here—he can't be...

 _But he was. And there was no bringing him back._

* * *

I shot up in bed, fully awake—and close to tears—the moment I opened my eyes. It had been nearly three years now since that day—the day Philip left this world for the next—and his last moments still haunted me. Perhaps they always will, even to my own dying day.

 _Breathe, Eliza,_ I told myself. _You're at home, you're alright, it's not happening all over again._

After some time, I had somehow managed to calm myself enough to let my mind come back to the dream itself. It had started off the same—same place, same time, same people—as it had every other time that morning came back to me, but it hadn't ended the same. It had ended in a different place and a different time—a time I knew had not come to pass. So why had it ended this way?

 _I'll ask Alexander about it when he—_

That was when I realized that, save for my own breathing, the room was silent. I heard no soft snoring, no murmurs, nothing except for myself breathing in and out. As far as I could tell, I was alone.

A quick glance around the moonlit space confirmed this.

Quietly, I rose from bed, smoothed down the front of my nightdress, and relit the candle resting on my bedside table before picking it up and walking out of the room. Something was definitely off, I was sure of it.


	2. Letter (Alexander)

**A/N: Chapter 2 is here! This is most likely the shortest amount of time between updates that will occur. Again,** _ **please**_ **write reviews for this story; I would really like to hear what you think of it.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2: Letter (Alexander)**_

I would have given just about anything to make finishing the letter lying on the desk before me—the letter I hadn't had the heart to complete when I began to write it almost a week before—an unnecessary task. However much I wished for this, however, it was too late for the letter's completion to be anything other than a necessity, as the words on this page would be my last to my wife in the event that I did not return from the in— _meeting_ alive.

 _It is a meeting, Alexander. Nothing less, nothing more._

Even as I said this to myself, I knew full well that my words were a lie. The word _meeting_ brings to mind people sitting around a table arguing about what steps to take next, or possibly working toward some sort of compromise, much like the time fourteen years ago, when Jefferson hosted a meeting between myself and Madison—I never thought of them with any sort of honorific attached to their names, most likely due to the fact that I was initially on friendly terms with the both of them before our various disagreements got in the way of that—to decide on an acceptable compromise as I was attempting to get my debt plan approved by Congress. That had ended with Madison agreeing to cast his vote in favor of the plan in exchange for my cooperation in advocating for the capital's eventual relocation to a spot on the banks of the Potomac River.

What I was about to enter into was nothing like that. This was, quite literally, a matter of life and death.

One may believe that this wouldn't frighten me one bit; after all, I had been involved in some way in several—ten? Eleven?—interviews before, and as one of the principals in most of these. However, none of them that I had been involved in as a principal had ever reached their final stage on the dueling ground. None of them, that is, until today.

I turned my attention back to the letter I still had yet to complete.

 _If these are to be my final words before I take my leave,_ I thought, _it would be a terrible shame to leave them unfinished._

With that, I took a deep breath and began to write.

* * *

It hadn't been longer than a minute since I returned to the letter when I heard quiet footsteps outside my study. When they ceased, I looked up to find my wife standing in the open doorway, the candle in her right hand clearly illuminating her pale, tired face.

"Alexander," Betsey asked, "why are you already awake at this hour?"

"I have an early meeting this morning," I replied as I turned back to the page and hid it from her view.

"Surely the meeting can't be _this_ early. Look outside; it isn't even light yet."

"I know it isn't. I only need to write this down before I forget to do so entirely." As I spoke, I continued writing the letter. It gave me something to do, something that would allow for my inability to look my dear Eliza in the eye.

"You always keep writing like you think there isn't another tomorrow."

 _Little does she know—_

I shook my head slightly, as if to shake that particular thought out of my mind.

My wife continued to speak: "Why don't you stop for a bit, come back to bed perhaps?"

I opened my mouth to tell her that yes, I would do so in a moment before remembering that no, tonight I did not have that luxury.

"I'll return before you even know I left."

"Surely you can afford to sleep a bit longer before you depart."

"I cannot. I need to be at the meeting place by dawn."

"...By dawn?" Betsey repeated my last two words in the form of a question, in a voice that held a hint of...worry? Surprise? Confusion? A bit of all three?

 _Damn it. Now she_ knows _something's wrong._

"That's an unusual hour for a meeting." My wife's voice still held the same worried edge.

"Yes, it is," I agreed as I signed my initials at the end of the now-complete letter, "but that was the requested time."

I hadn't noticed that my Betsey had come closer to my desk until she stood next to me, her long dark hair falling over her face as she bent down slightly, candle still in hand, over what I had written.

 _Hide the letter,_ my mind commanded my hands to do. _Put it away before Eliza finishes reading. You can't let her know any part of what's to come._

My hands did absolutely nothing, choosing instead to stay in the exact same location and position.

A tense, uneasy silence filled the room, heavy and thick and suffocating, as my Eliza read the letter that I had fervently prayed she would never need to see. After an interminable span of time, in which I could neither move nor speak, she finally straightened back up, clearly finished reading.

I looked up at her then; at the half-used candle wobbling dangerously in her trembling hand; at her face, now turned white as a sheet; at her dark eyes, wide with terror at the suddenly very real prospect of part of our family's history repeating itself to the same disastrous end.

Betsey's voice shook as she uttered her next words: "This is no ordinary meeting, is it?"


	3. Realization (Eliza)

**A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for not letting this fanfic go unnoticed (and a** _ **big**_ **thank-you to steelmagnolia247, 4444doodlemaru4444, and TTluv19 for reviewing as well as reading the story).**

 **I haven't even started writing Chapter 4 yet, so I probably won't update this for a little while after I post this chapter (plus, school will likely eat up most of my time this week anyway). Until then, here's Chapter 3.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3: Realization (Eliza)**_

My breath caught in my throat as I waited for an answer.

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

 _This couldn't be right, this couldn't be the case, this couldn't be as it so clearly appeared—_ but from the look of the situation, it was. What was easily one of the worst tragedies in this family's history, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be repeating itself, with Alexander in the place of our firstborn son.

Alexander did not respond, except to break eye contact. For once, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

"Is it?!" I could hear myself raising my voice, but at that point in time, I did not care; I was far too terrified—dumbfounded—furious—however it was I felt about the situation at hand—to worry about my tone.

"Don't worry about me, Betsey. I will be alright," my husband eventually responded in a voice obviously meant to reassure.

Needless to say, his words had no impact on my current state. "You cannot promise that, though, can you?"

Of course he could not. He knew this just as well as I—just as well as most anyone. Even half a lifetime ago, after he had been given a field command in the final year of this nation's war for independence, he had said much the same to me when he gave me that news. We both knew, even despite his words, that there was no way to promise this.

 _Breathe, Eliza._

After a moment, I stated in as calm a voice as I could muster at the time, "The minute I woke up alone, I knew there was something wrong, and this certainty only intensified when the meeting time was revealed to me. I knew that was no overreaction or product of an overactive imagination."

More to myself than anyone else, though evidently still loud enough to be heard, I continued, "And concerning what occurred in my dream tonight, and now this..."

"What did you dream of?" Alexander's voice, calm and steady and collected, interrupted my thought process and transported me back to where I was at that moment: standing next to my husband in his study at a time when both of us should be fast asleep, the candle I was holding almost about to slip from my grasp.

Willing my shaking hand to stay still as I hurriedly set the candle down on the corner of his desk, I began to formulate a response: "It was..."

Try as I might, I could not say another word beyond that; anything I would have said was suddenly trapped in my throat, unable to move any farther.

Alexander stood up from his desk and turned to me, his blue eyes meeting mine again. "You dreamed of Philip again, did you not?"

Still unable to speak, I merely nodded in reply.

 _Alexander could have already left by now,_ I abruptly thought, noting the initials at the end of the letter he had been writing—which he more than likely had no desire for me to ever see—that indicated its completion, that his graying hair was already brushed and tied back with a ribbon, that—save for a topcoat and cloak—he was fully dressed and ready to leave the house. _Had I not awakened and come down to see what the matter was, he might have already left._

Without a word, Alexander wrapped his arms around me and held me close for a little while. In some events, at some points in time, there are no words to be spoken—nothing to say that will make any sort of impact—and this, as we had both discovered rather quickly after the dream began recurring, was one of them.

We had stayed like this for some time when my voice returned to me. "The dream..." I began, "ended differently than in the other times it came to me."

Alexander let go of me as I took a small step backward, breaking the embrace. "How did it change?" he asked, his brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly to one side.

"It was as if...an entirely different scene had been attached to the end of it."

"The addition was a pleasant one, I hope."

"I'm afraid not."

A pause. "If you wish to stop there, I won't ask you to continue."

"I'll be alright, Alexander.

"The new scene was in a different time—and likely in a different place—than the rest of the dream. You and my older sister and Dr. Hosack and I were all involved in the final scene, but the former two were in different locations than before.

"Angelica was near where you had been in the main part of the dream, and you..." I paused as the words began to stick in my throat again. Thinking about the dream had been one thing; speaking to someone else— _anyone_ else—about it was quite another.

 _Breathe._

After I did so for a bit and the words began to flow again, I continued, "You had taken Philip's place, both in location and...and in final condition."

Alexander's eyes widened slightly. "That's...very strange, is it not?"

"Yes, it is," I agreed, "and I don't believe the timing was any sort of coincidence."

Almost without thinking, I changed the subject somewhat. "What action do you plan to take in the interview?"

Until the words had been spoken, I had been unaware that that was something I wondered about. That likely shouldn't be any of my concern; after all, I am not the person about to risk his own life over an insult. Some small part of me, however, apparently felt the need to know exactly what my husband had decided to do.

Alexander replied, "I have already chosen to throw away my first shot."


	4. Quarrel (Alexander)

**A/N: I finally finished writing this chapter yesterday, so thanks for being patient with me! I don't feel like it's written as well as the three chapters before this are, but I still have a bit of a schedule I need to follow, so here it is anyway.**

 **Please leave a review once you've read this (especially if you think there's anything I can improve on in my future writing) and also, let me know if there's anything you want me to write about in the future, because I do take requests.**

 **Here goes nothing... :-)**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 4: Quarrel (Alexander)_**

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I should never have voiced them. Yes, throwing away one's first fire was and is an honorable course of action when one would rather yield than risk harming his opponent, and yes, I was almost entirely certain the Vice-President would act honorably and follow suit when the time came, but my dear wife would almost certainly not see this choice in the same light as I.

In the quiet of the next few seconds, I studied Betsey's expression in an attempt to ascertain what exactly she was thinking. When she heard my words, a look of surprise crossed her face, but that expression had been a fleeting one; had I not paid attention in that instant, I might have missed it entirely. For a little while, she then took on the look of one thinking about what she had heard, perhaps wondering why that may have seemed familiar or whether she ought to be even more distressed than she was at that point in time.

Then, in the next instant, her countenance darkened dramatically and her eyes widened for just enough time for me to witness, for the briefest of moments, the storm—nay, the _hurricane—_ brewing within them.

"HAVE YOU LEARNED _NOTHING_ FROM WHAT WE'VE GONE THROUGH?!"

The suddenness and vehemence with which Eliza shouted her response propelled me back a step or two in surprise, causing me to collide with the chair behind me and fall backward over one armrest, resulting in my landing in the chair in a rather awkward position.

As I made my way out of the chair, I began to reply, "Betsey, you need to calm yoursel—"

"No, _you_ need to _listen_ to what I am about to say!

"If this had occurred _before_ the previous time a member of this family engaged in an interview," she continued, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her face a mask of rage and shock and fear all melded into a single expression, her voice at a similar volume to what it had been when she began, "I _might_ have been _slightly_ less terrified for you because I would have understood that if you wasted your initial shot, your opponent would follow suit and both of you would come away _alive_ and _well_!"

I couldn't help but recall as I stood back up that in the other rare occasions where Betsey and I had quarreled over anything, she had almost never become nearly so upset during those times as she was at this moment. Then again, these circumstances were considerably dissimilar to the ones that had spawned our other occasional disagreements.

"Betsey, listen to me, this won't—"

"Now, though...you know as well as I that throwing your shot away is _by no means_ any sort of foolproof method to survive this colossal mistake, this—this potential _disaster in the making—_ that your departure just might allow to occur!" She still shouted her words, but her voice itself had begun to sound less enraged and more like the voice of one attempting to refrain from tears.

"I am certain my opponent will—"

"I cannot be certain how this will proceed, but I do know I have _no_ desire for a _second_ November twenty-third on our hands—"

"Betsey, he will be honorable, I—"

"You believed the same about—"

At that moment, a child's voice entered the fray: "Mama, Papa, what is the matter?"

My wife and I both fell silent as we turned to the open doorway, where William and Elizabeth (two of our younger children, aged six and four, respectively) were standing next to each other inside the opening.

"William, Elizabeth," I began, "what are you doing up and about at this hour?"

My daughter was the first to reply: "We woke up to yelling and didn't know what it was about."

Immediately, her older brother picked up the story where she had left off: "So we both came down here to see what the matter was."

"Children," I responded, calmly but firmly, "This matter started between your mother and myself, and it will stay that way until—or unless—the two of us choose to inform the rest of the family. Is that understood?"

"Yes," William mumbled, his face downcast. His younger sister did the same.

"Good. Now go back to bed, both of you. It's far too late for you to be up anyway."

"Yes, Papa," William replied. "Good night." With that, he turned and began to walk away from the study.

"Good night Mama, Papa," Elizabeth said as she proceeded to follow her older brother.

Once the children left, Betsey and I turned to face each other again, both of us visibly calmer than before. The interruption, impolite as it had been, had worked wonders when it came to soothing the building tension in the room.

"Alexander, I..."

"Betsey, I understand that you do not wish to see that day's events repeat themselves, and I can assure you they will not. My opponent will act honorably in this interview, I am certain of it."

"You cannot be fully sure of that, can you?"

For the most part, I was fully certain that my words would show themselves to be true. There was one small fragment of me, however, that still harbored doubt as to whether my opponent would do as I largely believed he would. In our correspondence immediately preceding the Vice-President's challenge, the letters I had received from him seemingly seethed with barely checked rage—the type that gradually increases over several years of being trapped inside; the type that, when released, has the potential to be expressed in an explosion of immense proportions; the type that could quite easily develop into a black, all-consuming hatred of the supposed instigator of the cause of his fury. The type that can lead some men to kill.

Still, the larger share of me believed what I was saying to myself, that my opponent would act honorably despite his fury.

"Even if he does not, which I highly doubt will occur," I heard myself say, "it is already far too late to extricate myself from the matter. I have already accepted the challenge; I have no choice but to go."

A momentary pause.

"If only you could stay," Betsey murmured, breaking the silence.

 _Yes, if only I could...but I cannot. Not while preserving my honor._

"However tempting that may be," I replied, "staying here would be far worse than departing for the interview."

My wife blinked, startled; I could not determine then whether it was because of my response or the fact that I had responded in the first place to words she hadn't expected to be heard. "Do you honestly believe that risking your own life over some insult is better than staying here in no immediate peril?"

"With regard to reputation, yes."

* * *

 **A/N 2: I noticed as I was writing this chapter that Eliza seemed to be going through the five stages of grief due to the situation. At this point, she's probably at the beginning of the third stage (all in a matter of minutes).**

 **And the "second November twenty-third" bit refers to November 23** **rd** **, 1801, the date of Philip Hamilton's first—and last—duel. Eliza can only see the situation at this point as the events of that day about to happen all over again.**


	5. Persuasion (Eliza)

**A/N: I am** _ **so**_ **sorry about not getting this chapter up last Saturday. I planned to, but I had a bad case of writer's block last week, so...**

 **Anyway, the next chapter should be up by February 3** **rd** **. Until then, enjoy this one!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5: Persuasion (Eliza)**_

Some part of me knew that my husband would respond that way; I knew well that his public reputation was quite important to him—so much so, in fact, that when he had been forced to choose between that and his private reputation, he chose the former, allowing the latter to be tarnished in its stead. That particular incident, however, was not necessary to dwell upon at that time, as it would only serve as a distraction from what I needed to do: find some means of convincing Alexander to miss the morning's interview.

"Let me ask you a question," I began. "Which of these do you cherish more: your life and your family, or the public's opinion of you?"

As the next few seconds flowed on, I could clearly see the indecision in his eyes; he knew that the second response would be a lie or a betrayal—or both—and that the first would likely reveal some crucial flaw in his thought process that would render any rhetoric he may use to defend his side of our disagreement useless.

"I value both of those options quite highly, but as for which one is dearer to me...at this moment, I cannot decide between them," was his eventual reply—most likely the only reply he believed he could give.

"Despite their presently appearing diametrically opposed?"

"Yes, despite that possibility."

"Perhaps this may help you choose between them." I paused for a moment to arrange my thoughts in the order and manner in which I would present them. What I was about to say had to be clear and concise, since there was not much time before Alexander would be required to depart, and my words had to make some sort of impression on him and his final decision.

"Even as honor may call for you to attend this interview," I began, "you must keep in mind your other responsibilities as well.

"You are still necessary here in multiple capacities: as my husband, as a father to our children, and as the wage-earner for this household.

"If you leave to attend this interview, there is a very real chance that even if you do waste your initial fire, some part of that encounter may still go wrong; and if it does take some unexpected turn,"— _if he fails to return unscathed_ , I could not help but think—"then there may be no actual way for you to fulfill any of those in the future.

"I suppose what I am trying to say is... You may be willing to die for honor. The question is, are you willing to leave me a widow, this household destitute, and our children fatherless in its name?"

For the second time that night, Alexander seemed to be at a complete loss for words—a rarity in and of itself for him, but _twice_ in the span of minutes? Quite the improbable thing.

 _Stay on topic, Eliza. Complete what you began._

"All I ask of you," I finished, "is that you choose your course of action with your family in mind."

I picked up the still-lit candle from his desk and began to turn back toward the open entryway. "Farewell, A—"

"It is still too early for any farewells yet," my husband interrupted.

I stopped then, turning around to face him again.

"After I decide what steps I will take in this matter," he continued, " _then_ may be the time. However, since that time has not yet arrived, let us part with merely a 'good night'."

I smiled slightly then, despite myself. "Very well. Good night, Alexander."

"Good night, Betsey. I love you."

"As do I." With that, I turned again to the open doorway, stepping through it into the hall. As I began to return to our bedchamber, I briefly reflected on the events that had unfolded only moments before and wondered if there was anything more I might have done.

 _No,_ I decided. _I have done everything that could be done to convince Alexander to stay here. All there is to do is to pray that my words had been enough._


	6. Choice, Part One (Alexander)

**A/N: It looks like this chapter is coming in ahead of schedule! I'm almost finished with the next chapter as well, but that's only because I chose to split what I had written for Chapter 6 into two parts. (I had tried to fit Alexander's whole decision process into one chapter but it became extremely long—more than twice as long as my other chapters have been [and after publishing a rather short chapter before this one at that] [what is consistency? ;-) ]—so I split it.)**

 **Please review this story, I would really like to hear your opinions.**

 **Expect the next chapter after this by the 3** **rd** **. (If I don't get Chapter 7 published by then, feel free to pester me about it until I do)**

 **Until then, enjoy this one!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6: Choice, Part One (Alexander)**_

I stood there in my study, alone and uncertain, as Betsey walked back out through the open door. When I had first entered the room earlier in the night, I had known exactly what course I would take in the matter: I would attend the interview (for I knew it was too late to turn back now) and I would waste my first fire—and perhaps even my second as well, if the situation ever reached that point. My certainty persisted as I wrote out my statement of intent; despite my growing disquiet, my certainty persisted as I finished my farewell letter. After my wife discovered the matter, however...

Her words still echoed in my mind long after she herself had faded from view: _...you must keep in mind your other responsibilities...if it does take some unexpected turn...are you willing to leave...our children fatherless in its name?..._

 _...fatherless...fatherless...fatherless..._

* * *

 _It had been mere minutes since Father had returned home and already he and Mother were quarreling over something or other. Again._

 _I stared off into the evening sky, watching a light rain fall over this part of the island as I attempted to tune out the row at the back of the house. Needless to say, this approach only succeeded for perhaps a minute or two before it again commanded even a small share of my attention, despite the fact that the argument sounded, to my ears, just quiet enough to not be clearly heard._

 _After a slight lull in the quarrel, I heard footsteps—clearly the shuffling ones of my older brother—come closer to the room I waited in. I could hear our parents resume the argument seemingly right where they had left off as my brother seated himself next to me at the window._

" _James?" I turned from the window to look at him. "What...what changed? What caused..." I gestured toward the back of the house "... all this?"_

 _My brother shook his head, his blue eyes unreadable._

" _This began only recently...perhaps a couple months ago at most. Something must have changed, something must have gone wrong, but I have no idea what, and to be perfectly honest...it scares me."_

" _I could say the same." My older brother ran one hand through his light brown hair, just like he would always do when worried or otherwise distressed. "Though what can either of us do but wait and see what comes of the matter?"_

" _We could pray about this." With as young as we were—James thirteen and I only eleven—that was all we likely_ could _do about the present situation. Still, better that than complete inaction._

 _My brother merely nodded halfheartedly before turning back to the window._

 _Our mother and father ceased quarreling before too long, but the tension between the two of them was still clearly palpable long after the shouting died down._

 _Actually, "clearly palpable" would be considered an understatement. The tension was heavy, thick, suffocating, and eventually_ — _around the middle of evening meal_ — _I found I could not endure another minute of being anywhere near it._

" _May I be excused?" I asked._

 _After a long moment, Mother finally replied, "Yes, you may."_

 _It took every fiber of my being to walk away normally, as if I were unperturbed by the very thing I couldn't stand any longer, instead of sprinting from the table the moment she finished her response as I desperately wished to do. Somehow, in some way that even I did not quite know, I succeeded in doing so._

 _That night, sleep refused to come until long after the sky had gained its nighttime hue, and even when it did finally arrive, it was a light and fitful sort of slumber—at this time, a rather commonplace occurrence._

 _Three times, I had awakened to a room lit only by moonlight—the rain had shifted by then—and my brother's soft snoring beside me. I envied James then, how his sleep patterns were never forced to match his state of mind. Even worried as he was, sleep still came to him quickly and deeply, and lasted through the night._

 _After the third time I found myself awake, I gave up on attempting to fall asleep again. I would only sleep for a short while before awakening a fourth time, and besides, the sky was already beginning to lighten and morning was on the horizon._

 _It had been no more than perhaps ten minutes since I awakened then when_ something _caught my attention. Some small sound, vague and indistinct, had begun to reach my ears, and something was urging me to look for the source._

 _Quietly, so as to not accidentally rouse my brother, I crept out of bed and made my way to the place the sound was coming from. Eventually, I traced it to the dining room, where my mother sat at the table, light brown hair a tangled mess, breathing ragged, tears streaming down her face and dripping onto the page she held tightly in her white-knuckled hands._

" _Mother?" I asked, softly, hesitantly, as I walked up to her. "What happened? Why do you cry so?"_

 _She set down the page she held in her hands and turned to me, brown eyes brimming with sadness and shock and other emotions I did not yet know the names for. "A-Alexander," she choked out._

" _Your...father..."_

 _She took two or three full breaths before continuing on: "He...he left. He's gone."_

* * *

The flashback ended as abruptly as it came, leaving me short of breath and unsteady on my feet to such a degree that I might have fallen to the floor had I not caught myself on the desk I was standing beside. As I leaned on it to steady myself while I caught my breath, I told myself that no, this was not the same as that, as I fully intended to return.

 _And if you cannot?_

The question came to mind unexpected and unbidden.

If I were unable to return from the interview, then in the eyes of my family, it may as well be the same—or perhaps even worse than that. My father and I had corresponded every so often after his departure; in fact, it was a letter I had written to him that ultimately helped me make a new start in America in the first place. My wife and children, if I failed to return, would not have even that small luxury.

I told myself then that I would return, as I was, for the most part, certain the Vice-President would not dare stoop so low as to shoot a man who had his gun aimed in the air.

 _You believed the same about—_

Another point my wife had begun to make earlier, this time during the section of our quarrel where we had been shouting over each other.

I knew exactly who she had been referring to, despite the fact she had not mentioned a name.

And she had been right. I had believed that of him. And because of that, I had advised my eldest son to throw his own first shot away when he engaged in an interview—his first...and his last—less than three years prior.

Was I about to make that same mistake a second time?


	7. Choice, Part Two (Alexander)

**A/N: Chapter 7 is here! Yes, Alexander's final decision** _ **will**_ **be revealed in this chapter (but** _ **please**_ **don't all skip down to the bottom of the page); and no, the story is** _ **not**_ **over yet. And yes, the letters mentioned are actual letters from that time related to the conflict.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7: Choice, Part Two (Alexander)**_

No, I said to myself. I hadn't known Eacker at all when I had assumed the best of him then. However, I _did_ know the Vice-President well and the two of us had been on friendly terms for quite some time. Surely he would not forget _that_?

Almost of its own accord, my mind began to travel back to the events that ultimately led to this place, this time, this situation...

* * *

 _It was a clear Tuesday evening when the first letter arrived._

 _I was inside my study, looking over the details of an upcoming case, when a knock sounded at the main entrance. As I knew for a fact that I was the closest to it at the time, I stood up from my desk, leaving the papers I had been perusing behind as I moved to answer the door._

 _I opened it to find a young man—likely no older than thirty—standing before me, a letter held in his right hand. Without a word, he handed the envelope to me._

 _Upon receiving the letter, I asked the man, "What exactly is this about?"_

" _Colonel Burr requested I deliver this to you," he replied._

 _Then and there, I broke the seal on the envelope and removed two documents from it. The first read as follows:_

 **N York 18 June 1804**

 **Sir,**

 **I send for your perusal a letter signed Ch. D. Cooper which, though apparently published some time ago, has but very recently come to my knowledge. Mr. Van Ness, who** **does me the favor to deliver this, will point out to you the clause of the letter to which I particularly request your attention.**

 **You must perceive, Sir, the necessity of a prompt and unqualified acknowledgement or denial of the use of any expressions which could warrant the assertions of Dr. Cooper.**

 **I have the honor to be**

 **Your Obdt. Servant**

 **A. Burr**

" _If I may, Mr...Van Ness," I began as I refolded the first page and unfolded the second—which appeared to be a letter from the aforementioned Dr. Cooper written to my father-in-law—"which clause did Colonel Burr make reference to?"_

 _Van Ness then pointed out, at the bottom of the page, this sentence:_ **I have made it an invariable role in my life to be circumspect in relating what I may have heard from others; and in this affair, I feel happy to think, that I have been unusually cautious—for** **really, sir, I could detail you a still more despicable opinion which General Hamilton has expressed of Mr. Burr.**

A "still more despicable opinion" than _what_ exactly? _I wondered as I looked the letter over from its beginning._

 _Near the middle of the page, I found the opinion on the other side of the comparison:_ **I assert that Gen. Hamilton and Judge Kent** **have** **declared, in substance, that they looked upon Mr. Burr to be a dangerous man, and one who ought not to be trusted** **with the reins of government.**

" _I see."_

Yet he does not mention what exactly the insult was, despite its supposedly being worse than the one attributed, at least in part, to me.

" _Thank you, sir, for delivering this," I said._

" _You're quite welcome," Van Ness replied before turning to depart._

 _As he left, I closed the door, letters in my hand, still wondering about the "still more despicable opinion" alluded to in Dr. Cooper's letter. Perusing Burr's letter a second time, I found no clarification as to what the insult was or when, where, or to whom it was spoken; yet despite that, he still demanded its avowal or disavowal without any qualifying statements whatsoever. Had he clarified what exactly he wished me to acknowledge or deny, I might have been willing to comply, but one cannot expect any sort of avowal or disavowal of a forgotten insult when the offended party fails to clarify what exactly it may be._

 _Especially if the last sentence before the closing of Burr's letter was to be read as a demand for a blanket retraction or denial of anything I myself had said, publicly or in confidence, to impeach his character._

 _I had just returned to my desk to begin a reply when I heard the call to evening meal. Sighing with slight exasperation at the timing of the matter, I dropped the letters and envelope on the desk, rose from the chair I had just seated myself in, and began walking to the dining room. My reply, it seemed, would have to wait._

 _Three days after the first letter arrived, and two after I had written and sent my reply, a second letter from Colonel Burr arrived. As I read that day's letter, I found my reply to the first letter from him had not served his intended purpose. There was no hint of the desired clarification; only a repetition of the initial demand, this time written with rage clearly emanating from every letter of every word on the page._

 _The moment I finished reading the letter, I began to craft a response:_

 **N York 22 June 1804**

 **Sir,**

 **Your first letter, in a style too peremptory, made a demand, in my opinion, unprecedented and unwarrantable. My answer, pointing out the embarrassment, gave you an opportunity to take a less exceptionable course. You have not chosen to do it, but in your last letter, received this day, containing expressions indecorous and i** **mproper, you** **have increased the difficulties to explanation, intrinsically incident to the nature of your application.**

 **If by a definite reply you mean the direct avowal or disavowal required in your first letter, I have no other answer to give than that which has already been given. If you mean anything different admitting of greater latitude, it is requisite you should explain.**

 **I have the honor to be, Sir**

 **Your Obdt. St**

 **A. Hamilton**

 _When I called on Judge Pendleton to discuss the matter with him and later requested he deliver my second reply to Mr. Van Ness, who would then deliver it to Colonel Burr, I believed my reply to be the only one I could give. However, it only appeared to feed the flames of Burr's fury—and by the time I realized this, it was already far too late to maintain even a semblance of control over the situation. Far too late to stop or slow whatever was to come to pass._

* * *

As I returned to the present time and place, I found myself wondering precisely why I believed my opponent would follow suit as I wasted my initial shot.

I told myself that I knew him well, that I knew he was not ruthless in this regard. Still, some part of me faintly wondered whether this was an attempt to convince myself of a misconception rather than the truth.

Even if I was, I could not worry myself over that. There was no point, as in this particular matter, Colonel Burr and I were past the point of no return. Besides, I could not stay without jeopardizing my reputation, my legacy, my ability to be useful in future—

 _What of your family, though? What of your children?_

The share of my mind that had resolved to proceed—a smaller share than when I had first begun preparations for departure—found itself cut off by the part that wished to stay.

 _Your children are a part of your legacy as well—perhaps the one part you may be able to clearly see. If you chose to stay, that choice would by no means "jeopardize" them or their futures; your departure, in their case, could well do just that._

 _And since we seem to be on the topic of how your legacy will be carried on—how exactly you will be remembered—think about how your own children will remember you if you fail to return. Think about whether they even will._

My older sons—Alex and James and John—would clearly remember me, I knew that for certain. Angelica and William may, but as the former sometimes cannot recognize her own family, myself included, and the latter is not yet seven, their memories of their father would likely not be so clear. Elizabeth would have only half-formed memories of me, and Little Phil...if I did not return, I may as well be just another name in the family Bible to him.

The part of me that seemed to consider itself the voice of reason continued: _In regard to future usefulness, you not only risk losing public usefulness by going—as you may by staying—you risk losing_ _any_ _sort of usefulness in this world, whether at home or in the public sphere._

 _Besides, you have been vehemently against the practice for quite some time, so why the hell did you even contemplate participating in one yourself?_

Despite myself, I began chuckling slightly at my own seeming hypocrisy.

 _Yes, there may be something to lose by staying here, but not only will you gain nothing by departing, you risk everything if you choose to participate._

I reflected for some time longer on the issue after the supposed voice of reason fell silent. Eventually, half an hour after I was left alone with my thoughts, I finally came to a decision.

* * *

I found my wife in our bedchamber, kneeling beside the bed, her forehead pressed against her folded hands, her mouth forming words too rapidly and quietly to be heard or understood.

"Betsey?" I said as I crossed the threshold.

She looked up, startled.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, not at all," she replied as she stood up. "...Have you made your decision?"

"Yes." Despite the space being dark save for what moonlight shone through the window, I could clearly see both hope and dread vying for prominence in her expression.

"I have decided to stay and miss this morning's interview."


	8. Reaction (Eliza)

**A/N: I am so sorry about not updating for the past three weeks. With school picking up again and my other activities I take part in, plus a bad case of writer's block related to this particular chapter (yet, somehow, inspiration galore with chapters that I still have yet to begin), I just haven't been able to write much until a few days ago. I suppose my getting sick over the weekend (and my cold [?] being severe enough this morning to force me to stay home from school) was a mixed blessing.**

 **Now, without further ado...the next chapter.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8: Reaction (Eliza)**_

" _...this morning's interview."_

I saw my husband's mouth move—saw him speak—but the fears that still plagued my mind had completely drowned out all but a few of his words.

"Alexander...would you repeat what you said?" I asked as he came near.

"Betsey," he replied, a smile evident in his voice, "I'm _staying_."

 _Alexander...He's going to_ — _!_

I threw my arms around him and held him close, the whole time letting a semi-coherent string of words expressing my relief out into the air: "Alexander-I-was-so-scared-that-you-would-leave-for-the-interview-thank-the-Lord-you-chose-to-stay-instead-"

"Calm yourself before you start gasping for air," my husband interrupted.

"Well," I said then, after pausing to breathe, "after a weight like this had just been lifted, I could not help but be joyful."

"Perhaps we can celebrate at another time," Alexander responded.

"Perhaps we can," I said once I let go. "Not too far from now, but I can wait for a little while.

"Anyway, now that your life is no longer on the line," I continued, moving on to the next topic, "what still needs to be done?"

"My second will need to be told of the change of plans," my husband responded. "Leave that to me."

"No, leave that to _me_ ," I said. "After all that time convincing you to miss the interview, I would much rather not risk being an unsuccessful Calpurnia in this matter.

"Besides, even without that risk, you've likely been up and about most of the night. For a few nights in a row. Even in this light, I can see the dark circles under your eyes. You need sleep."

"I—" Alexander was cut short by his own yawn "—I can't exactly quarrel with that."

"You're giving in that easily?"

"Is that an issue?"

"No. Only unexpected." I noticed then that the silver moonlight had begun to fade into the hazy glow of daybreak. "I distinctly remember you saying, when I still had no idea of the risk you were about to take, that the interview was to occur at dawn."

Alexander shrugged slightly. "All _that_ had been was—" he yawned a second time "—was an attempt to trick myself into putting my aff—everything in order more quickly, since my second would—" a third yawn "—likely arrive around that—"

"Alexander," I said, cutting him off. "You do not need to go on about that. At least I know your second—whoever he may be—will be coming here." _Which will make telling him an easier task than expected,_ I finished in my mind.

"Judge Nathaniel Pendleton," my husband said. "He is to be—or rather, _was_ to be—my second in the upcoming interview."

I nodded as an image of the judge appeared in my mind's eye. Pendleton, as a dear friend of the family, would be immediately recognizable.

At that moment, a knock sounded on the wall next to the open door.

"Yes?" Alexander called.

A slim, fair-haired young woman stepped just inside the doorway. Smoothing her hands on her apron, she began, "Sir, Judge Pendleton is outside waiting to speak with you."

My husband and I exchanged a look before I asked that she tell Pendleton that Alexander was currently unavailable but I would talk with him soon.

My request clearly confused her, but she didn't protest, instead replying that she would do so.

"Thank you, Sarah," I said as she left.

About twenty minutes after that—in slightly less time than I personally had expected—I was dressed and ready to speak to the judge about the change of plans. "Goodnight, Alexander," I said as I turned to leave the room. "Get some rest."

"I plan to," my husband replied. "I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

 **A/N 2: The "unsuccessful Calpurnia" bit is an allusion to the point in** _ **Julius Caesar**_ **where Calpurnia (Caesar's wife) persuades Caesar to stay home on the Ides of March, only for Decius (one of the conspirators) to convince him to do the exact opposite less than a minute later. I guess Eliza saw the parallels pretty quickly, as she has no intention of letting Pendleton become the Decius of the current situation.**

 **Speaking of Pendleton, does anyone have any idea what he looked like historically? I've looked him up a couple times but found nothing about that (which is frustrating because I've found pictures, at least, of literally everyone else involved in the duel).**


End file.
